


Louder than Words

by Saetha



Series: Two Suns in the Sunset [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And some fluff thrown in for good measure too, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, SWAT, Slow Build, Torture, also swearing bc heeeeeeey this is Dwalin we're talking about, and bad attempts at humour (sorry), let's have a toast for the two emotionally constipated jerks shall we, lots of others are mentioned, slight PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1662272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Dwalin had been looking forward to a perfect, quiet Sunday evening with a few cans of beer, the latest episode of Breaking Bad and maybe a couple of pages of reading in the book he had bought the day before. He had expected to get moderately tipsy, heavily amused and maybe fall asleep on the couch before he made it to bed. What he certainly hadn't expected was the rather dishevelled figure of one Thorin Durinsson, 38, 6'2, slightly drenched, on the steps of his door at 9.43pm." </i> </p><p>Modern AU in which Thorin and Dwalin have known each other for years and spend their days as members of the mobile police force and SWAT. This is the story of how they somehow came to live in the same apartment - and how what was supposed to be nothing more than a routine night operation went horribly wrong and turned into something much bigger, changing more than one life in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Громче слов](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5109944) by [Esthree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esthree/pseuds/Esthree)



> This was originally planned to be no more than a short flashback scene in the bigger picture of things. But things got slightly...out of hand. And what better excuse than my muse's looming exam period to finally start writing the first part of this beloved AU of ours? So, my lovely Ivana, this is for you! The surprise that I've been talking about :'). I hope others might get some enjoyment out of this as well. And to all the others with exams/deadlines/etc atm, good luck to you too!
> 
> FYI: This story is already finished and the remaining four chapters will be posted in short order (adapted to my friend's exam schedule), the last one in two weeks. Also - the real Boston MOP drives around in actual Harleys for work. If that doesn't scream Dwalin at you, then I don't know.

Dwalin had been looking forward to a perfect, quiet Sunday evening with a few cans of beer, the latest episode of Breaking Bad and maybe a couple of pages of reading in the book he had bought the day before. He had expected to get moderately tipsy, heavily amused and maybe fall asleep on the couch before he made it to bed.

What he certainly hadn't expected was the rather dishevelled figure of one Thorin Durinsson, 38, 6'2, slightly drenched, on the steps of his door at 9.43pm.

"Hey."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Pipe burst. The apartment is unusable for at least a week or so my landlord says and the asshole won't pay for hotel costs."

"So?" Dwalin crossed his arm in front of his chest.

"So...can I come in?" Thorin seemed like he hadn't even considered the option of Dwalin not being willing to take him in for a week. Dwalin was momentarily rendered speechless by his cockiness. The he rolled his eyes and stepped aside, holding the door open with one hand for Thorin to walk through.

He didn't seem to have much on him in terms of possessions - just a large gym bag which he promptly tossed into the corner next to the door, dangerously close to a wobbly pile of books.

Dwalin shook his head, willing away the sudden urge to punch his impromptu roommate in the face. Instead he walked across the living room into the kitchen. Thorin would seat himself, he knew. It wasn't the first time that his friend and colleague was crashing on his couch, the only difference being that the last time he had been considerably less sober and guaranteed to be gone the next morning.

He spent a while rummaging in his fridge, before he finally thought to ask:

"Beer?"

"Thanks."

The voice came from his bathroom. Thorin had obviously decided to change out of his damp wardrobe and was now dressed only in a pair of black gym trousers and a tank top of the same colour. His hair was still a rather unruly mess, falling in slightly knotted strands past his shoulders. Dwalin snorted at his friend's efforts to untangle it. If he got a pay rise of a quarter every time he had made a joke about the impracticality of Thorin's hair he would now be one of the richest men in town.

Dwalin fully stepped out of the kitchen and threw him a can once Thorin had seated himself. His friend caught it with the effortless grace that seemed to come so natural to him. He shook his head and then slumped down on the couch next to Thorin.

He returned his attention to the small television set in front of them, not exactly caring whether Thorin would approve of his choice of evening entertainment or not. After all, it was still his apartment they were in. The man next to him, however, seemed to be entirely satisfied with what he had to offer, his eyes following what was happening on the TV screen intently. Dwalin was quietly thankful for the size of his couch - if he'd had to sit any closer to his guest he might have had more trouble concentrating on the content of the series than he cared to have. Once the episode had finished, Thorin turned around to him.

"Breaking Bad then?" A small grin, its appearance helped by the alcohol, was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Dwalin shrugged, well aware of the undeniable irony in taking such glee in watching a meth-cooking family father evade and trick criminals and police alike. They were both members of the Boston Police Department's Mobile Operations Unit and, by extension, SWAT after all.

Thorin let out a small laugh.

"It's a good show." he concurred.

Never one for big words (his brother had always been the talker in the family), Dwalin grunted an agreement. Thorin seemed content with the reply he had gotten, only watching amusedly as Dwalin made his way to the big and rather old-fashioned chest under one window and started rummaging in it. Without looking, the tall man threw both a blanket and a spare pillow at him, the former a rather screaming shade of red. It had been a gift from his brother who had remarked that his apartment was surely missing some more colour. Dwalin had nearly throttled him for it, but kept the blanket anyway. You never knew when it might come in handy, such as today.

Thorin's lips were twitching with an amused smile as he eyed the bedding being thrown at him. Dwalin shot him an angry glance that dared him to say even a single word and Thorin evaded any anger by grabbing his toothbrush from his bag and heading towards the bathroom.

When Dwalin watched Thorin curl up under his blanket not long after, he felt the absurd urge to ask him to share the his own bed - it was a double bed after all, more than big enough for two and certainly more comfortable than his old couch.

"Are you planning on keeping watch on me the entire night or will you catch some sleep before tomorrow's day shift?"

Thorin's tone was somewhere between amused and annoyed and with a miniscule flash of shame Dwalin realised that had been staring at him rather openly for the past few minutes.

"Just making sure you're not going to raid the fridge when I'm not looking."

Thorin snorted at the obviously lame excuse.

"As if you had anything worth raiding in there."

Despite his position, his reactions were still sharp as Dwalin hauled an empty can of beer at him. It joined the collection on the living room table and with a satisfied smirk, Thorin turned around and closed his eyes.

Dwalin switched off the lights and retreated to his own bedroom with a muttered curse on his lips. He didn't have the faintest idea what he should really think, and, even more important, feel about Thorin's sudden arrival. He was oddly torn between wishing he would wake up the next morning and find that it all had been nothing but a dream and wishing he would get a lot more opportunities to watch Thorin roaming around his apartment like he lived there.

At least the offending person would be gone by the end of the coming week and spare his emotions any more trouble.

*

Except that he wasn't.

Somehow 'waiting for the pipe burst to be repaired' had turned into 'waiting for a new apartment to be found' - Thorin's landlord had decided to raise the rent once again due to the recent renovation that had apparently gone hand in hand with repairing the damage. And somewhere along the line (possibly under the influence of alcohol) Thorin had decided to move in with him, or, more accurately, simply not to move out. Before Dwalin could truly object (not that he really would've tried, in any case), Thorin's belongings had started to accumulate in his apartment and quietly, but consistently transformed it into a communal living space for the two of them.

After all, Dwalin's home was much closer to MOP headquarters and sharing the rent meant they could finally afford an HBO subscription as Thorin had remarked with a glint of both amusement and excitement in his eyes.

Dwalin learned a multitude of facts about his new roommate during the next few months, despite having known him for almost ten years and serving about half of it in the same unit with him. For one, he quickly discovered that Thorin was a rather restless sleeper. After the invasion of his home in the first night he found himself blindly groping for the knife at his bedside table as the sound of a rather ominous thump from the living room woke him.

The blade gripped firmly in his hand he opened the door, only to be rewarded with a rather strange and certainly unexpected sight - the noise had obviously been Thorin who had fallen off the sofa onto the wooden floor in his sleep, blanket hopelessly tangled between his limbs. Dwalin did neither wake him nor did he say anything the following morning - but a few days later an old carpet he had acquired at a garage sale next door mysteriously appeared on the wooden floor.

Thorin's only reaction at its sight was an arched eyebrow.

There was a small part inside Dwalin that still insisted, or rather, _hoped_ that Thorin would at some point simply see reason and start using his bed as well. There was not enough space in their apartment for a second bed after all and the couch seemed much too uncomfortable to sleep on it for an extended period of time.

The second aspect of Thorin's life he had barely known anything about before he moved in was that his friend loved to read. Yes, they both were police officers and as such subject to shifting work hours but even with their irregular sleeping patterns Thorin always found time to read during the day or evening, likely a small remnant of a childhood spent in a house full of books and academics. And he was, as it turned out, also a rather great fan of Breaking Bad and a number of other series besides (although Dwalin would never understand his fascination for The Tudors and other period dramas).

The third fact assaulted him one day when he returned from the day shift and found himself met by the delicious smell of a proper homemade meal as made his way up the stairs towards their apartment. It only intensified when he opened the door. Considering they'd had either takeout or quickly thrown together meals for the past weeks it came as quite a surprise to Dwalin to see Thorin standing in the middle of his kitchen, putting together a rather elaborate dinner for no other reason than he 'occasionally enjoyed cooking big' as he told him later.

There were other things that he came to notice about his friend now that they shared a apartment - for example the way Thorin always absent-mindedly straightened out his clothes after taking them off. Or how he sometimes nodded off over one of his books after a particularly long day and his hair would then fall forward to frame his face. Or the way little rivulets of water would run down Thorin's bare chest from the soaking wet strands on his head whenever he stepped out of the bathroom after a shower. Dwalin pretended not to notice, pretended not to hunger for such details, pretended not to dream of Thorin's hair tingling on his skin and his fingers tracing the curve of those muscles on his shoulders and front.

Sometimes he idly wondered whether Thorin accidentally noticed his hungry gaze or kept a similar mental catalogue about his own odd little habits. Based on the half incredulous, half bemused remarks he had received about his habit of wearing woollen socks to bed because of his perpetually cold feet, maybe the latter was the case.

The last fact he learned about his new roommate was that his colleague had a tendency for rather...unpredictable behaviour when he was drunk. At least it managed to take care of what Dwalin had silently dubbed the 'sleeping problem' in his head - when he returned from his late night shift one morning he found a slightly intoxicated Thorin occupying the left half of his twin bed. To their mutual embarrassment later they discovered that sharing a sleeping space provided them with more regular sleep than they'd had in years. Neither of them lost any words about it but from then on, they shared the bed as well as the rest of their living space.

*

Thorin frowned as he looked out of the window of their little apartment- there was mist on the streets this evening despite the glittering of stars on the sky, curling its long tendrils of grey over the asphalt. He had always hated fog. Though it was perfect at hiding their unit from sight, it also meant that they themselves would have a harder time spotting any potential dangers facing them outside the building.

He leaned his forehead against the window, the cold glass jolting him awake from his drowsiness. The familiar pulling in his stomach before a planned operation had settled in already - not nervousness, fear or excitement, but a quiet apprehension for what was to come.

"Thinking about tonight?"

The voice behind him ripped through his thoughts and he turned around to look at the man whose apartment he had invaded so suddenly over ten months ago. Although by now it already felt like they had been living together for decades, so accustomed had they already grown to each other.

Thorin nodded and faced Dwalin who was sprawled on their couch, a can of his favourite beer in his hands and a magazine on motorcycles in his other. They had shared the same shift the night before, slept until a few hours ago and then taken to what they usually did before planned raids - Dwalin distracting himself with his favourite reading, Thorin pacing up and down the room, recalling all the information they had on their target and mission once again.

"Sometimes I can't decide what I prefer - an operation that has been carefully planned out for months in advance or a sudden emergency situation." he said.

The grimace on Dwalin's face made it quite clear that he had thought about the same question before and not come to any better conclusion than Thorin.

"Then stop thinking about it." he grumbled. "Here."

With a practised move that had almost become a ritual between them now, he threw a can of beer into Thorin's general direction. His friend caught it, mindful of the plants on the shelf next to him. He had almost shattered one of the flower pots once and the following look of murder on his roommate's face had been one he likely wouldn't forget so soon.

Dwalin Barkhun was famous in the unit for his wealth of tattoos, the fact that he had named his motorcycle 'Grasper' and his gun 'Keeper', his ability to curse fluidly in over twenty different languages and the occasional tendency to sleep with everything that was human and said yes. None, however, would have guessed that he also had three orchids sitting on his windowsill at home that he cared for like others would for their children. Thorin had asked, once, and gotten the answer that they had been the courtesy of his mother, before she and her father had died in a car accident shortly before Dwalin had decided to join SWAT.

Thorin sighed and walked over to the sofa. He frowned as Dwalin didn't budge to make any space for him.

"Move."

His command was accompanied by a light punch to Dwalin's legs that were currently occupying his standard sitting space. For a moment he had to resist the temptation to simply keep touching, to trace the lines of muscle beneath the slim fabric of Dwalin's trousers and shirt and drink in the sight of those grey eyes that always seemed to unravel something inside him.

He ignored the churning in his stomach at those thoughts, as always. They had known each other for almost a decade now. Dwalin had always been a half-legend in the Boston police force, even during his time as simple patrol cop. His strength and, at times, short temper were feared as much as they were admired and Thorin had experienced both aplenty in their time together. He couldn't even pinpoint the exact moment when he had first felt anything aside from annoyance and grudging respect for his colleague.

But at some point a few years ago he had started to notice a slight tinge of jealousy inside him whenever he saw Dwalin flirting with yet another waiter or waitress at the bar. It wasn't so much the flirting itself that he minded - it was none of his business who Dwalin chose to spend his nights with, after all. But a tiny part inside him insisted that he would rather liked to be included on the menu.

He flicked those thoughts aside, almost annoyed with himself. Instead he moved to the spot that Dwalin had finally vacated and opened his own can of beer. Then his mind returned to contemplate all the information about tonight's Operation Frying Pan one last time.

The _Pinecone_ was an almost notorious nightclub at the edge of the city centre. They had known for years that the greater share of activities conducted there were illegal and likely related to Azog or some of his henchmen, but nobody had been able to prove anything. Azog was a major crime lord and famous for controlling large parts of the drug and illegal weapons trade at the East Coast. The major police departments in many states had been collaborating for more than a decade on bringing him down. Tonight was supposed to be one of the major steps towards that goal.

Thorin's hand unconsciously tightened around the edges of the of the couch, fingernails digging into the worn-out fabric as he thought about the price they had already paid for the pursuit of this criminal.

"Regar and Finn haunting you again?"

Dwalin's gruff voice was unusually soft. Thorin gave him an apologetic half-smile before he took another swallow and wiped his mouth.

"Yeah."

There was nobody in the department who hadn't heard about the murder of the two police officers, father and son, two years past. According to rumours, Regar (who should have long been retired but had insisted on continuing to work despite his age) and Finn had been close to one of the biggest scoops in police history, only a step away from proving a considerable amount of Azog's misdeeds and, as hushed voices would have it, the existence of a much larger, dangerous presence behind him. What not everybody knew was that Regard and Finn hadn't only been fellow members of the police force to Thorin, but also his grandfather and uncle. It had been their stories whenever his family had visited the house where his mother had grown up that had inspired him to join the police. And it had been their gruff approval that had always warmed his heart the most.

He remembered his fury well when the murder case had been closed after a year already - not a single lead had been found from the day the investigation had started, although everybody knew all too well that it had likely been Azog's henchmen behind it. He remembered how he had stormed into Thranduil's office, had demanded an explanation although their branch technically wasn't even working on the case. And he remembered the furious and at the same time pitying glances (he still didn't quite know which ones had been worse) that Thranduil had thrown at him and his infuriatingly quiet voice as he had told him to leave his office, calm down and take a few days off or he would risk a forced leave for a much longer period.

After uselessly smashing a hole in the plaster of the storage room's wall, Thorin had taken his anger and slowly hammered it into determination, turned blind wrath into steel to wrap around his body and mind. But although outsiders might think otherwise, he knew he would never forget what had happened and he lived for the moment of satisfaction he would have when they would finally arrest those responsible for the murder.

Dwalin's hand suddenly came crushing down on his shoulder. He didn't offer words of comfort for he knew they would either barely help and or simply be untrue - but the warmth in his gruff voice was undeniable and genuine.

"It's time. Let's get ready and go."

Thorin threw a gaze on the watch around his wrist and noted that his friend was right. He nodded and moved, Dwalin's hand squeezing his shoulder one last moment before he let go. Neither of them lingered on the touch for too long, although its warmth stayed imprinted on their bodies.

They got ready within a few minutes, their bags already packed and waiting at the door. Over the months they had developed a quiet routine to almost everything they were doing from breakfast over cleaning to preparing for and heading out on missions, like a well choreographed dance they had done a hundred times before, be it here in the apartment or at work.

Thorin pulled his hair into a ponytail and hesitated as he saw Dwalin standing before the door, ready to go and watching him intently.

"Dwalin?" His colleague nodded, eyes not leaving his face for a single second. There was something dry suddenly lodged in Thorin's throat as he continued to speak.

"What do you think about going out for a beer after tonight?" The words came out confident, not like the tumbling oddity he had feared they might be.

Dwalin blinked, the question more than unexpected. They had been out drinking more than one time before, although, as he just realised, never only with the two of them. The word _date_ crossed his mind, before getting slapped away by the big hand of his second thoughts.

But he found himself nodding, despite the knot that had appeared in his stomach.

"Sure, why not."

Thorin answered him with a grin. It was one of those rare ones that reached all the way to his eyes and lit up a spark of silver inside their deep blue. Dwalin swallowed.

"Good. Then let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! And thank you for the comments and Kudos on the first chapter, every single one always makes my day :'). I'm afraid this one is NOT a happy chapter, sorry (the tags are there for a reason). 
> 
> For anybody who wants some music to go with it - I wrote the first part listening mostly to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTDEdt-AAqQ&feature=player_detailpage#t=140), the second part listening to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTuS_Qf5_jk) and the very end with [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETZf5jyLPR0) (did I mention that I LOVE the TWS soundtrack?).

They arrived at the headquarters exactly on time. Additionally to the members of their team, Thranduil and Balin were waiting for them in the small seminar room that they usually used for briefing before important operations. Thranduil spared them no more than a curt nod, but Balin's face briefly lit up in a small smile at the sight of his brother.

"Ok. Everybody here?"

Nods and murmured confirmations rose up from the ranks of the people looking at him. Thorin let his eyes wander about the assembled team - Bifur and Bombur stood amongst them, as did Dáin and Tauriel, their eyes hard and posture attentive. Most of them were already in that special state of mind that was needed for missions such as this one.

"Good."

Thranduil projected several blueprints of the _Pinecone_ 's different levels on the big canvas in front of them and then nodded to Balin who took it upon himself to do one last briefing before they headed out.

"I trust you have all been going through the information we gave you last week, but just to refresh your memories: the club has two entrances, the main one here" his laser pointer was circling one of the indicated doors on the ground level, "and the other here.

We will split the attack unit into two teams, Team Alpha under Durinsson and Team Bravo under Ironfoot. Assistant leaders will be Barkhun and Heniad, respectively."

The entire team nodded and Thorin found satisfaction rise in his gut; it was a good choice. He and Dwalin had always worked best as a team and Dáin and Tauriel would be a reliable force on the other side.

"Team Alpha will take the front entrance and Team Bravo the rear one. We will also have an observation team stationed on the roofs nearby and a few men in reserve if needed. Óin and his medics will also be on standby in case anything goes wrong and I will personally remain in contact with you during the entire operation.

The _Pinecone_ is closed today, due to maintenance work according to the official statement. Our intel has it that there will be a major transaction going down tonight that has been planned for months by Azog and his crew. There will likely be about at least a dozen individuals in there, most of them armed and more than willing to use force to defend themselves. There is unreliable word that Azog himself might be there and I don't think I have to remind anybody here about the danger this man represents.

The part of the building belonging to the club has four floors, the rest are private apartments that have been evacuated under the pretense of a gas leak earlier today. Team Alpha will secure every exit and room on the ground level and Team Bravo will clear the upper level which we expect to be empty, before joining Team Alpha on the two lower floors and carrying out the arrest together.

Any more questions?"

The "No, sir." came at exactly the same time from all of them.

Thorin watched as the men and women committed the plan once more to memory. Their faces spoke of much the same emotions that he could find roiling inside himself, the same quiet agitation and determination towards their mission.

Nobody spoke, neither when they changed into their uniforms, nor when they did another check of their gear and communication devices, nor when they filed into the big van that would bring them to their destination. There was something oddly comforting about the silence filling the vehicle despite the slight tension in the air. They were a good team and had proven so on numerous occasions before.

The van finally came to a halt two streets from the club. They had all internalised the outline of the few blocks around it and there was no more need for spoken words after they had cross-checked their communication channels one final time. Gripping their weapons, they filed out of the van's interior and quietly split up into two teams of six people each, moving to their assigned positions.

Balin's voice in their ears was distant but clear when he spoke.

"All in position. Team Alpha, Team Bravo, clear?"

Thorin heard Dáin's voice echo in his ear through his com as they both gave the confirmation.

"Good. Then go!"

The first few minutes were always the ones filled with the most adrenaline. Thorin felt the familiar rush surge through his body. Time was slowing down around him, ever single second crystal clear in his perception. Dwalin and Bifur broke down the door with a few practised pushes of their battering ram. There were no shouts, no voices inside the building, no gunfire awaiting them. Thorin frowned briefly and for the fracture of a second the thought flashed through his mind that something was utterly and completely _wrong_.

"Team Alpha here, we are in. Everything quiet."

Dáin's voice rang through their radios, confirming that the second team had also gained access to the building and found the same eerie stillness they had encountered.

Balin listened to the progress both teams made and couldn't help but feel a tug of worry in his stomach. Azog was famous for always having his meetings heavily guarded, even if he didn't personally attend them. At the latest the breaking down of the doors should have provoked some kind of resistance.

Could their intel have been wrong? But their agent, Bilbo Baggins, was usually more than reliable when it came to such information. And a leak was, though possible, equally unlikely. Balin rubbed his temple with his fingers as both team leaders continued to report quietly over their radios. Room after room on the ground floor and upper level came up empty. Balin felt the strong urge to grab a spare set of gear and walk out and assist his team although he knew that all of them were more than capable to help themselves if worst came to worst. He usually didn't regret his decision to leave the active field work behind, but on a night like this...he prayed his fears wouldn't come true.

The two teams united in front of the big metal door that covered the entrance to the two lower levels. They broke through it within moments, Thorin and Dáin up front, their assistant leaders and the rest of the two teams right behind. Two members remained on the ground floor, guarding the entrances against any eventual attacks from outside. The silence in the building lasted and it slowly became unnerving, their breathing and quiet squelching of their boots the only noise in the dark hallway.

Thorin recalled the layout of the building in his head. The presumed location for the supposed transaction was a big storage room down in the second basement. He knew there were no exits apart from the one they had just used as an entrance, so they took the time to search all the rooms on the current floor, too. There was still only an extraordinary amount of rubble in some rooms and no sign of life in any of them. Thorin felt the uneasiness spread in his chest. He could sense the tension surging through the rest of the team, their nerves on edge. There were two doors at the opposite ends of the building leading down into the second basement. After clearing the first entrance, he quietly signalled Dáin and the rest of his troop to move on to the second one.

Their door was unlocked, a dim light illuminating a small stairwell with no more than fifteen steps leading downwards. The bad feeling in Thorin's gut slowly turned into the sound of a warning siren shrilling in his head. But there was no hesitation now, no way to go back. They had to see this mission through.

After Dáin's confirmation in his ear that he and his team had reached the other door, he slowly walked down the stairs, weapon poised in front of him and Dwalin not far behind.

His friend saw it a single moment before he did and stopped in his steps. Thorin, focussing on what was in front of him rather than on the sides of the wall, continued walking and noticed it too late.

"THO-"

Dwalin's shout in his ears was cut off by the sound of a small explosion as the miniature charges on the wall and ceiling detonated between Thorin and the rest of his team, filling the small hallway with dust and a noise so loud it threatened to tear his ears apart. Time seemed to grow slower and faster at the same moment, everything happening at once in horrifying detail.

A truck seemed to hit him into the back with full force, propelled him forward and then slammed him to the ground. Something small bounced off the Kevlar vest of his back and his last thought was the odd question whether Dwalin had been able to step back in time to avoid the worst of the blast. Then darkness blotted out his mind like ink spreading on paper.

*

"Dwalin!" A hand on his neck pulled him back at the last possible moment. Only a few seconds later and he might have well been crushed under the debris of the collapsing ceiling and walls. Almost blind and deaf he stumbled up the stairs to escape the aftermath of the small explosion.

"Team Alpha, what happened?" Balin's voice in his ear seemed to be far away.

Dwalin closed his eyes and hoped Thorin would answer as was his duty as team leader. But there was only static. A quick look down the stairwell and through the billowing dust confirmed his suspicion - there was a large amount of debris blocking the narrow hallway. He quietly suspected that there had to have been a mound of rubble in the room above for such an amount to come loose. There was no way past the bits of stone and concrete and he sincerely hoped the statics of the building would remain unaffected.

"Fuck." He hoped his cursing was quiet enough that nobody else would hear it. Then he forced his voice to sound calm and composed when he replied.

"There was a minor explosion. Our entrance to sublevel two was rendered inaccessible and we have lost contact with Alpha One."

He could hear quiet swearing from his brother and the members of the other team.

"Join Team Bravo and use the other entrance. Finish the mi-"

Balin's words were interrupted by shouts at the other end of their radio connection.

"Team Bravo here." Dáin's voice was breathless. "We encountered resistance on our way in. About a dozen men, heavily armed. The rooms down here seem to be booby trapped."

Dwalin spat out another curse. He didn't have to look into his team mate's faces to know that they were thinking the same: somebody had leaked their plans. This was no routine surprise raid.

It was a trap.

"Team Bravo, we're on our way." he growled before signing his team members to follow him.

They moved carefully down the hallway towards the other entrance to the level below and Dwalin felt a moment of gladness that his brother hadn't asked them to abandon their mission and retreat yet. He wasn't entirely sure he would have been able to follow such orders promptly, not with Thorin's fate still unclear.

As Dáin had reported, his team was currently engaged in a rigorous fight with what Dwalin presumed were likely professionals working for Azog if their training and skill was anything to go by. He felt anger rise up inside him - their information source had obviously forgotten to mention the small but important detail that Azog apparently had his own private army. If this was supposed to be a demonstration of power, it was rather well done.

Dwalin lost track of time as they slowly advanced through the rooms. It was likely only minutes that had passed since they had joined forces with their second team, but it could as well have been hours for all he knew. Even through the ear protection the noise of the fight was loud and he was sure his body would ache once all the tension had been drained from it.

But for now he was caught up in the heat of the fight, concentrating solely on the task before him and trusting his colleagues to have his back. They had gained a good amount of ground during the last moments and Dwalin's memory of the building's layout told him that there were only a few storage rooms left between them and the caved-in stairwell.

Balin's voice cut through a brief moment of respite.

"Team Alpha, Team Bravo, we have a problem. Alpha One's com has disconnected not long ago. And I'm sure he's not alone."

Dwalin felt something in his stomach grow cold and heavy.

"Shit."

Only the fracture of a second a different sound cut through the momentary silence. Muffled and faint as it was through their ear protection, it was still unmistakable.

"GO!" Dáin and Dwalin both bellowed at the same time.

Their careful advancement turned into a ferocious assault and Dwalin fervently hoped they would make it in time. But as much as he concentrated on the fight in front of him, he still couldn't shake the echo of Thorin's scream haunting his mind.

*

When Thorin came back to his senses he was almost choking on the dust in the air. His thoughts were sluggish, as if wading through mud and only slowly did his memories return. He panicked for a short moment when he remembered the ceiling coming down and the weight hitting his back, but a short mental assessment of his body told him that although likely horribly bruised and with a terrible headache the next day, there would be no lasting damage. Thorin shuddered when he thought what it might have been like without the helmet or his other protective gear.

There was the faint sound of gunshots ringing through the building and the communication lines of his com and he frowned; it seemed like their targets had been waiting for them.

The feeling of utter _wrongness_ in his guts returned, shortly before a pair of heavy boots appeared in his vision. Their approach must have been muffled by the ringing in his ears from the noise of the explosion.

The only thought he had time to think before a kick hit him in the temple through his helmet was _Oh fuck_.

His sight blurred and before he could grab any of his weapons one of his arms was bent back far enough to almost dislocate his shoulder. A heavy boot stepped on his other hand and he bit back a gasp at the sudden flash of pain shooting through it. Suddenly there were hands on him, pulling, punching, ripping at his body, roughly stripping him down until only his shirt, trousers and shoes remained. One of the first items they removed was his com and he spat a curse as it was grinded into little pieces under the heel of a boot.

Whoever had caught him, they were more than one and they were quiet and efficient and clearly professionals. None of them spoke a single word, but each of his attempts at resistance were met with vicious blows to the most vulnerable parts of his body until he could barely think straight. He could feel his ribs crack as punches hit his now unprotected chest.

His own movements were still sluggish from the shock of the explosion, but as they cuffed his hands behind his back and dragged him up he nonetheless landed a few blows, one of them a knee to the groin of the man in front of him. His victim went down with a gurgled moan and Thorin allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Then his vision went black as somebody backhanded him across the face. He tasted salt and copper on his tongue and felt a trickle of blood seep through his beard.

Thorin's captors used their advantage of momentarily stunning him. They hauled him up on his feet again and down the hallway. There were at least six of them - two in front, two gripping his arms and at least two behind him if he interpreted the sound of their footsteps correctly. It was likely a safe bet that they had guns on them and even if he had been in prime condition Thorin knew that he would have been unable to overwhelm them all.

They didn't go far, although Thorin could catch sight of several more small explosive charges on the walls and the ceilings. The rooms themselves were empty, the entire maze of the sub-basement nothing but a giant trap.

Another group of people was waiting for them in the big storage room that their intel had indicated as the location of the transaction. Thorin couldn't suppress the flicker of surprise in his gaze as he saw the man wearing a loose grey suit jacket over a white shirt. He recognised the face from one of the few photographs their informant had been able to get his hands on - Azog. The scars across his forehead were a dead giveaway, as much as the artificial hand. Next to him stood his personal bodyguard, a woman named Daisy who the police, despite their best efforts, knew next to nothing about. Her gaze remained calm and professional as they entered and dragged Thorin into the middle of the room, her stance that of an experienced fighter wary of surprises.

"What a pleasant coincidence." Azog said and where Thorin had expected a smooth tone fitting for one of the city's greatest crime lords, his voice was a much lower and rougher timbre instead.

Thorin remained quiet. There were still two men holding him and one of those that had been walking behind him was now in his front, gun pointed steadily at his forehead. There was no way out. Not with ten professional fighters in the room and at least four small-calibre firearms aimed at him.

Azog caught the defiant look in his eyes and gave a small nod to somebody behind him. Pain blossomed in his back after several sharp punches, at least one of which had landed in his kidneys. Thorin bit down on his tongue to stifle a scream. More blows and a kick to his already cracked ribs followed. When he could see clearly again he was on his knees, arms still twisted painfully behind his back.

"I see that you are not one for easy conversation, Durinsson. Well then..."Azog smiled," let's get right to the point."

He walked closer, a strange glint appearing in his eyes that Thorin couldn't place. It made a shiver of fear run down his spine nonetheless - this was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, no matter the force he had to employ to do so.

"You have some information which we would like to retrieve. A trusted source has conveyed to us that your regrettably late relatives left you access to some documents relating to my...business ventures and also mentioning a man named Smaug."

Thorin frowned as he tried to make sense of Azog's words. He knew his uncle and grandfather had been working on the crime lord's case - but the existence of Smaug had never been officially confirmed and all evidence the two might have accumulated had vanished. His inheritance had included no secret documents either.

"So you do understand if I have to ask you: where is it?"

Azog's eyes were now fully focused on him, the smile gone from his face.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Thorin tensed up, expecting another blow from behind. But instead, Azog's eyes just narrowed and with a single step he crossed the distance between them. He drew a small knife in the same movement and slashed it across his chest with a flick of his hand. Thorin hissed in pain as the blade cut deeply through his skin and blood started welling up from the wound, running down his skin beneath the fabric of his shirt.

"Are you sure? I don't like to repeat myself."

"I don't know."

It was the wrong answer and the fury in Azog's eyes almost made him flinch. A moment later the tall man buried the blade up to the hilt in the flesh of his victim's left shoulder.

This time, Thorin screamed.

A kick hit him in the chest and he reeled over to the side, crying out again as he hit the ground with the injured part of his body. A boot was placed on it next to the knife, rolling him onto his back with his wrists buried awkwardly beneath him. The taste of blood was on his tongue again and he gasped for air as waves of pain were crashing through his brain.

"Again. Where is the information?" Azog sounded almost bored as he leaned forward, placing more weight on his boot. Thorin thought he could hear his collarbone beginning to crack.

" _I don't know_." he ground out between clenched teeth.

There was something akin to regret in Azog's gaze as he lifted his foot and brought it down, hard. Thorin's collarbone broke with an almost audible crack and he screamed again. There was nothing but a pulse of pure agony where his shoulder and arm should have been and he had trouble focusing on what was happening.

Azog made a notion to the men beside him and they gripped his arms again, hauling him upright. He let out another choked cry as he could feel the knife moving, tip scraping over the bare bone of his shoulder blade. Thorin closed his eyes and struggled to regain control over his senses.

Fingers grabbed his hair and jerked up his head. Azog's face was close and he could see the specks of green in the icy blue of his irises.

"I'm losing my patience, Durinsson." he growled. "Where is the intel?"

His words were accentuated by another twist of the blade. Thorin's legs nearly gave out under him, but the grip of his captors was merciless, their hands clamped like iron around his arms.

"Your last chance."

Thorin just shook his head, praying that Azog might simply order to shoot him now. One of the men holding a small gun moved out of his vision to stand behind him. By then he was almost grateful that it was over, aside from a small pang of regret in his chest that he never got to have the beer with Dwalin after all.

But the quick death by a bullet to the head was not his to have.

Instead, there was a sharp pain in his right knee as the noise of the shot rang through the room in a deafening roar. Thorin blacked out for a single moment. When he came back to his senses he distantly realised that he was on the ground and screaming again. Red was flooding his vision and he could barely see, his entire body nothing but a mangled mess of agony crying out in a thousand different shades of pain. He dimly noted that his voice was beginning to break, the red rapidly becoming replaced by black.

Somebody slapped his cheek, the sting pulling him back once more. When he opened his eyes it was Azog's face in front of him again, his fist grabbing the collar of his shirt and voicing his question for a final time.

"No." Thorin croaked.

"He doesn't know. Let's finish him and leave." A part of his brain registered that this wasn't Azog's voice, but a different one. One of his henchmen then.

Azog's disgust was plain as he let him drop to the ground with a sneer. A broken sound escaped Thorin's throat as his injured shoulder hit the floor again, the world in front of his eyes turning into a single blur.

"Yes. I almost wish we would have had the time to make this more...interesting. But now it looks like there is indeed nothing he could tell us."

He crouched down next to Thorin.

"But I would still consider this a success. And you know what the best part about this is, Durinsson?" he asked, eyes gliding over the bleeding shape curled up on the ground. "If you die here, it will be just another death in the line of duty. No witnesses, barely any useful clues."

Thorin knew he should have cared, but everything seemed too far away to truly touch him. The only thing that was real was the pain cursing through his body and setting it on fire.

He could hear shouts rising up somewhere close and the sound of gunfire just as one of Azog's men stepped forward to kill him. Chaos broke out around him but still he felt strangely detached from everything that was happening. The coldness of the ground slowly started seeping into his body, almost soothing in its icy burn.

"Thorin!"

Somewhere in all the confusion around him he could make out a voice calling out his name.

 _Dwalin_.

It was solid and real, an anchor to latch himself onto in the flaming sea he was drowning in. Then there was a dark shape hovering above him and somebody carefully moving his upper body to unlock the handcuffs around his wrist. The same fingers gently lowered him to the ground again, a murmured apology finding its way into his mind when he cried out in pain at being moved. And then there was a soft hand at the side of his throat, feeling his pulse. It felt good on his skin and he wanted to beg for it to stay whilst his heart hammered in his chest and the darkness kept pulling at his senses. But all he managed was a broken moan.

Dwalin's voice was over him again, speaking into his com.

"Get an ambulance, urgently. Alpha One is down, bullet and stab wounds and going into shock. And we need Óin and his guys over here _right fucking now_."

Thorin clung onto that voice, listened to the familiar words and names although their sense slowly began slipping away from him. It was hard to keep his eyes open.

"Come on Thorin."

The hand was back on his face now, the faint touch of skin a welcome distraction from the agony and slowly spreading numbness in his body.

"Stay with me. Talk to me. Come on, don't let me do all the work. You know how fucking horrible I am at rambling."

There was a faint rustle and then another arrow of pain shot up from his leg, drawing another choked scream from him.

"Sorry. Just wanted to make sure you're not going to bleed out. Your family would have my head if you did. Óin will be here soon and- no, don't close your eyes, no. Look at me. _Look at me_."

With a last effort he willed his blurred vision into focus and the grey blots over him slowly solidified into Dwalin's face. There were hard lines around his mouth etched there by fury and concern. But there were also soft speckles of light in the dark steel of his eyes. Thorin found himself trying to hold on to their piercing gaze - the grey of those eyes was drawing him in as it always did, beckoning him to come closer and spill all his secret desires and fears.

Suddenly, there was more frantic calling in the hallway; Óin and his medics had arrived and motioned Dwalin to step back so they could do their work.

The last thing Thorin remembered before the darkness took him were eyes the colour of the winter sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody who's wondering how Azog & co. actually escaped when both exits the team knew about were blocked - there is indeed an answer to that question and it will be given in Chapter 4 ;). Next chapter on Wednesday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to introduce more of Thorin's family in this chapter! And yes, for the purpose of this universe we decided to make Frerin into the youngest of the Durinsson siblings. By the way, MGH stands for "Massachusetts General Hospital". And somebody give Dwalin a hug, please.

"Did everything go according to plan?"

The deep timbre of the voice was underlined by its smoothness. Azog folded his hands behind his back, trying not to feel like a child being asked by his parent how the day in school had gone. He was a man of power, he reminded himself, not just some lowly henchman. Although his counterpart could always crush him at only a moment's notice if he wanted.

"Yes. The intel we were given was correct. We sufficiently demonstrated our power and knowledge and there were no casualties on our part."

"And Durinsson?"

There was no real tone of interest in his conversational partner's voice, as if he had asked about tomorrow's weather or the state of his mansion's garden. Azog shrugged.

"Contrary to our source, he seemed to have no information. Unfortunately we failed to eliminate him, but he will likely be...incapacitated for an extended period of time, maybe permanently."

The plan had always been to teach SWAT and, by extension, the entire police department a lesson and demonstrate their power. The opportunity to interrogate Durinsson in regards to the whereabouts of his late family member's investigation reports had merely come as a nice extra. Had the police department truly had access to information about Smaug, they would have likely used it already. Still, better safe than sorry.

"And you are sure he had no knowledge of the documents in question?"

"None. We used a rather great amount of pressure if I might say so. And it appears as if he is truly oblivious to their existence." Azog tried to keep any defensive or overly annoyed tone out of his voice. The man in front of him didn't react well to such displays of emotion, he knew. He carried the evidence for it on his face after all.

"Good. He might start prying into the matter though if he recovers. Keep an eye on him and the department."

"Yes, Sir. I will."

"Very well. That's all for today then."

Azog nodded and removed himself from the dark study. There was work to do.

*

Dwalin hated hospitals. He knew he could hardly fault them for being what they were, but he mostly associated them with pain and death. His mother had died in the same hospital that Thorin was in now and he had spent her last two days after the accident by her side together with his brother in the vain hope she might wake up before her end. She never had.

The lady at the MGH's reception desk smiled friendly at him despite the early hour. There had been no word on Thorin's condition yet, but Dwalin supposed it was a good sign - if he was dead, surely somebody would have informed him already.

They had all rode back to the base in silence - none of them had sustained any major injuries which was almost a miracle considering how vicious their fighting had been. Thranduil and Balin had both agreed to do the general debriefing in the afternoon and Dwalin was quietly thankful for it. Without exchanging a single word with the others he had handed his weapons back, stripped out of his uniform and grabbed his bag. Balin's hand on his shoulder stopped him as he had been just about to leave, offering him a ride back. His brother had a look in his eyes that told Dwalin that it wasn't so much an offer as almost an order and a small part of him was as grateful as the rest was annoyed.

Balin didn't offer any words of comfort as the lights of the city passed behind their windows, knowing that his simple presence helped more than any phrases he could have uttered. The only sound was the silent humming of the car engine as they drove through the empty streets in the middle of the night. They stopped in front of the apartment house and Dwalin thanked him for the ride home.

"Are you sure you'll be fine? You can always...come over if you want."

Balin knew his brother wouldn't take him up on the offer but he felt slightly better for having made it. Dwalin, as expected, just shook his head.

"No, thank you. I'll..." he left the sentence hanging in the air as if the words had just deserted him.

"Thank you." he said again, helplessly.

His apartment was quiet as he entered. There were still empty beer cans left on the table and almost mechanically he set to cleaning the room. He didn't care if his neighbours would complain to him the next morning about vacuuming the entire apartment at 4am - Dwalin only knew that he needed to busy himself to keep his thoughts from spiralling out of control and back to the last moments in the abandoned nightclub. Only when he started to wipe down the surfaces he realised that there was still some blood stuck in the creases of his hand and under his fingernails.

He scrubbed at his hand vigorously for over ten minutes, willing away the image of Thorin's blood coating his fingers as he pressed a cloth against his destroyed knee and the memory of the broken sound that had risen up from his friend's throat at the pain.

After the apartment was as clean as it hadn't been for months he felt tiredness surging through his veins. But sleep was impossible to come by; all he saw when he closed his eyes was Thorin's bloody shape on the floor, his chest rising and falling under far too rapid and shallow a pulse, the veil of pain that had clouded his gaze as he looked up into his face and the limpness of his figure as they had finally carried him away.

After over an hour of restless tossing around he gave up on sleep and took a shower. He wondered dimly if anybody had informed Thorin's family yet and took his phone with him that had at least Dís' number on it. Belatedly he also grabbed a few of Thorin's clothes and stuffed them into a spare gym bag before heading out, refusing to consider a situation where there wouldn't be any need for them.

It felt strange to take the subway this morning instead of his own motorcycle, but tired and on edge as he was he doubted he should have been anywhere close to traffic. The T was busy with early commuters and the station at Downtown Crossing was already filled to the brim with disgruntled passengers despite the early hour. Dwalin wondered if walking wouldn't have been quicker than going through the hassle of changing into the Red Line there, but the thought left him as quickly as it had come. Everything surrounding him felt strangely unreal - as if he was watching the people around him through a window, suddenly having to suppress the urge to scream at a world that just kept on turning, not caring about what happened in it.

And now he was standing in the foyer of the MGH at 7am, likely looking more like a ghost than a living being himself and inquiring about the state of his colleague. He both did and didn't want to hear the answer to his question. The receptionist gave him a smile and continued to tap something into her computer to get the information he had requested.

"He came to us in critical condition early this morning. But it seems he has stabilised enough to be out of mortal danger for the moment. There is no telling when he will wake up, however. Are you his partner or family?"

Careful relief flooded Dwalin's chest at her report. Her last question caught him almost off-guard.

"I-...no, sorry. I'm a colleague of his. A friend."

Her brow furrowed.

"Could I see your ID, sir?"

"Yes, of course."

Dwalin pulled out his MOP police ID card that also identified him as a member of the SWAT team. The smile returned to the woman's face, this time clearly apologetic.

"Ah, I'm sorry Mr. Barkhun. As Mr. Durinsson seems to have been injured under slightly...exceptional circumstances we were advised to let no strangers visit him unless they are colleagues or close kin."

After noting down his information and letting him sign a sheet she returned his ID to him.

"Mr. Durinsson is on the third floor. I will inform the nurse there that you are coming, she will show you to his room. As I said before, we are unsure when he will wake up, but if you still want to see him..."

Dwalin tried to keep a desperate note out of his voice as he pocketed his ID.

"Yes please."

"The elevators and stairs are just a bit further down the hallway, to your right. Of course you are welcome to visit whenever you want."

He nodded his thanks and strode down the hallway, trying to calm the storm inside him. Thorin was alive. It was all that counted at the moment, no matter what the future would bring.

The nurse directed him to the room after he showed her his ID again, as promised. After a look at his face she left him alone to stare at the closed door for one more moment before he finally walked in.

It was strange seeing Thorin lying so still. He was usually tossing and turning in his sleep, never really in the same position for more than a few moments. For him to be so unmoving was almost unnatural and even if it weren't for the medical equipment around him, the tubes and bandages and visible patches of swollen and bruised skin, Dwalin still would have known that something was wrong.

Thorin was pale where bruises didn't colour his skin and although his chest was rising and falling steadily now, it was far away from his relaxed breathing during normal sleep. He looked strangely fragile surrounded by white and the quiet rustling of machines and for a terrible second Dwalin was reminded of his mother's shape in a similar bed in the same hospital, her life slowly seeping away under his fingers.

With a careful movement he put down the bag he had brought and seated himself on one of the chairs at Thorin's left side. There was a stray strand of hair which had fallen across Thorin's face and he resisted the temptation to push it out of the way at the last moment. Instead he remained seated beside the bed, yearning to touch, and by doing so offering comfort that wouldn't help and receive some of his own that would. But he did nothing of the sort and spent the next minutes just watching and waiting, hands folded in his lap as if unconsciously restraining himself from making contact with Thorin's skin. And although there was barely a good memory that he connected with rooms like this, he found to his surprise that there was nowhere else he would have rather been at the moment.

Dwalin supposed he must have nodded off - the next thing he knew was the sound of a door opening, jolting him awake. With a curse on his lips and a groan he stretched his stiff neck and turned around to face the person who had just entered the room.

Dís Durinsson, 34 years old, engineer, was a tall woman, her dark hair falling in curls just below her ears and with eyes the same colour as her brother's. She startled slightly at Dwalin's sight but composed herself quickly as he gave her a weary smile. They had met on a few occasions before, but never conversed much apart from the usual smalltalk.

He made a movement to get up and offer her his seat, but with a small tug at the corners of her lips she declined and pulled up a second chair, seating herself opposite him at Thorin's right side. Her eyes travelled over her older brother's still form and Dwalin found grief and worry mirrored in her features, but also strength beneath them like in the roots of a mountain. With a gentle movement she removed the rogue strand of hair from Thorin's face that Dwalin had noticed earlier, her touch lingering for a second on his forehead. Then she grasped his fingers with her hand, careful not to disturb the IV. Dwalin looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable staring at such a display of affectionate familiarity.

"What exactly happened?" Dís sounded tired, as tired as he felt. "When your brother called me this morning he was either unable or unwilling to tell me anything more besides that my brother had been critically injured during a failed operation this night and that he was at hospital now. And the doctor here that I just spoke to was equally vague."

Dwalin hesitated, unsure of what to say. Balin would have his reasons not to tell Dís any details of what had gone wrong; on the other hand, however, she was Thorin's sister and deserved to know what had brought him into this state.

She had noticed him faltering and now the gaze of her blue eyes was drilling into his own, demanding answers. He found himself unable to resist and swallowed.

"We still aren't completely sure. The entire operation last night turned out to be a nothing more than a trap and Thorin was separated from us, maybe deliberately. We think they...interrogated him about something. I could...I could hear him scream as we tried to get to him. But when we arrived they were already done."

He hated the note of weakness that had crept into his voice at the mention of the memory of Thorin's scream still trapped in his head.

"So you are telling me that somebody, maybe even the same person responsible for my uncle's and grandfather's deaths, _tortured_ my brother?" Dís' voice was colder than ice, her fingers clenched around Thorin's. "Promise me that they will pay for this, Dwalin."

Dwalin nodded. He wondered whether he would be still be able to abide by the law if he ever came face to face with Azog and his henchmen again. Dís closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, her strong frame trembling for a single second and betraying the storm of emotions inside her soul.

"The doctor..." she swallowed, her eyes now fixed on the lumpy outline beneath the blanket where Thorin's right leg was. "The doctor told me that they shot his knee. She said that they would usually leave the bullet in if it was lodged in the bone, but here they had to take it out since it was caught in the joint and was threatening to poison his bloodstream. She mentioned that Thorin was lucky that they used a small calibre to shoot him with, otherwise he might have lost the leg completely. As it is..." she shrugged, the gesture making her look lost. "Apparently there's still quite some damage and they can't tell yet whether he will ever recover full use of it or not."

A small lump of ice was sliding down Dwalin's spine at her statement and he wished he could have offered her comfort of any sort.

"He's too stubborn to let anything truly bring him down." he finally said.

A small smile lit up Dís' face at his words, her gaze softening as it travelled over her brother's face to come to rest on Dwalin's tall frame, hunched up on his chair on the other side of the bed.

"Yes. Yes, that he is."

They spent a few more minutes in almost comfortable silence before she sighed and rose up from her seat.

"I need to leave now, there is an important meeting at work that they need me to attend, likely for the rest of the day. Apparently not even a heavily injured brother in hospital could change their minds on this point. Thankfully my sons are with my parents today, so that I don't have to tell them until this evening. Will you stay here with him?"

Her last question was unexpected and Dwalin found himself nodding before he had even had the time to think about it properly. Today was his day off and now that he considered the alternatives he would rather remain where he was than facing his empty apartment alone.

"Thank you." The glint in her blue eyes told Dwalin that it was an expression of honest gratitude. "Frerin should be here soon, too, once he finally remembers to check his messages."

Dís untangled her fingers from her brother's and then bent down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. After a last gentle touch to his cheek, she turned around and left the room.

Dwalin shifted around on his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position and mulling the conversation over in his head, wondering whether he had given away too much information on their raid. At the same time he knew he would do so again even if it were Thranduil himself standing right next to him and scowling at his words.

As Dís had prophesised, the youngest of the Durinsson siblings came in not long after her departure. Dwalin had met Frerin only once before, at the celebration for their completed SWAT training. He didn't remember much from that evening apart from having had far too much to drink and making out with somebody else's sister in the corner of the bar.

Unlike his older sister and brother, Frerin had blond hair turned into dreadlocks that he liked to put up into a high ponytail. It was accompanied by a cocky attitude that had gotten him into trouble more than once as Dwalin knew from the rare occasions on which Thorin had talked about his family. The two brothers usually met once a month for a game of billiard in their favourite bar but apart from that Dwalin knew next to nothing about him.

Nonetheless, he found himself chatting amiably to the young man after a while, although Frerin was doing most of the talking. He was nine years younger than Thorin and had nothing of his brother's quiet reserve. Where his sister was coping with her worry by wanting to know as much about the situation as possible and searching for physical contact with her brother, Frerin was almost the opposite. Though always keeping an eye on the bed, he carefully steered the conversation away from the events of the previous night and the extent of his brother's injuries. Dwalin felt strangely grateful for it.

After a while Dwalin found that he had relaxed enough to finally leave the room and heed the call of his grumbling stomach for a late lunch in the hospital's cafeteria. Frerin remained with Thorin, promising him to keep watch over his brother.

He still felt strangely distant from everything that was happening around him, like he had been caught in an invisible bubble since the night before. A small part inside him hoped that he would wake up at some point and find that it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. The feeling didn't diminish but grew even stronger when he returned to Thorin's room and found Frerin talking to his brother, quietly recounting stories from their childhood and youth to somebody who couldn't hear them.

His smile for Dwalin when he returned looked slightly lost.

"Somehow I keep hoping that he wakes up and tells me that I talk too much and that I should shut up. He always does that."

Dwalin managed a half-smile of his own before he returned to his seat at Thorin's bedside, but found no words with which to answer the young man.

"I should probably get going." Frerin got up from his chair and winced as his arms and back stretched with an almost audible pop.

"I have the evening shift at the restaurant tonight and they don't like it if I'm late, not even during family emergencies. I take it that you're going to stick around for a while longer until my big brother decides to finally open his eyes and declare it was all a ruse and he could hear us all along?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Frerin grinned and patted him on the shoulder before giving him a small sheet of paper with a mobile number written on it. "Text me if there's anything new?"

"Of course." Dwalin was surprised by the sudden display of familiarity. Thorin's brother flashed him another grin before he strode out of the room and Dwalin sat down in his chair again, shaking his head.

Although his eyes were heavy with tiredness he decided to pass his time by reading one of the two magazines he had bought on his way back from the cafeteria. He had finished the first and was about to start the second when his phone rang.

"Dwalin?" Balin's voice sounded at least as tired as he felt, maybe even more. "Where are you?"

"In the hospital, why?" Dwalin had left his seat at Thorin's side and moved out of the room down the hallway until he found a quiet corner in an empty waiting room where he could talk.

His brother sighed.

"Because the debriefing was forty-five minutes ago and you didn't turn up. Thranduil is furious and demands that you, and I'm quoting his exact words, 'get your ass down right here, right now.'"

Dwalin groaned. In truth, he had completely forgotten about the debriefing over his chat with Frerin and seemingly not bothered to remember it after Thorin's brother had left, either.

"Tell him he can have my ass where he sure as hell doesn't want it. I'll be around tomorrow, before the day shift. Surely he can survive one fucking day without me."

"Language, brother." Balin's second sigh was almost comical in its exasperation. Dwalin could just about see him pinching his nose and close his eyes as he always did when faced with having to clean up one of his younger brother's messes.

"I'll tell him. How's Thorin?"

"According to the nurse this morning he's stable enough for the moment, but he hasn't woken up yet." He didn't add ' _I hope he'll do so soon_ ', but his brother heard it anyway.

"How long are you planning on staying?"

"I'm not sure, I-"

Balin exhaled audibly.

"You haven't slept at all since yesterday, have you?" The guilty silence from Dwalin was more than answer enough for him.

"At least promise me you'll go home tonight. Thorin won't get better by you needlessly exerting yourself."

Dwalin was about to protest but then bit his tongue. He knew his brother was right and he knew it wouldn't do any of them good if he just collapsed during work the next day.

"Yes, brother." he finally managed to say, with as much sarcasm pressed into the last word as he could manage.

"Good. Do you need a ride back from the hospital this evening?" Dwalin rolled his eyes. Sometimes his brother seemingly thought he had to make up for their parents' deaths by motherhenning him.

"No, I'm fine, thank you. I'll take the T."

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Tell me if there's anything new with Thorin. I had planned on visiting today, too, but the bloody disaster that was Operation Frying Pan last night kept me on my heels all day. I've barely had time to breathe so far, let alone start on the paperwork."

So that was why Balin sounded so tired. Dwalin didn't envy him his role at the moment. He had likely had to explain a number of different times today to countless superiors how the entire well-planned operation could have gone so terribly wrong.

"Go and get some sleep yourself before you lecture other people on it then. See you tomorrow."

Balin snorted at his reply before he hung up.

Dwalin resolved to do a short walk outside to stretch his muscles again. They were cramped and stiff from spending too much time hunched on a narrow chair and the fresh air did wonders to clear the muddled thoughts inside his head. On his way back to Thorin's room he stopped and bought another set of magazines from a small news stand and a drink plus a sandwich from one of the many vending machines.

When he opened the door, his gaze immediately fell on Thorin. Thorin, whose eyes were open and looking straight at him through a haze of pain and drug-induced sleepiness.

He felt slightly thunderstruck at the sight, the sudden feeling of relief making him almost dizzy. Words were tumbling around in his head - _Thank God you're awake_ , _I thought we would lose you_ , _You scared the hell out of me_ , _Your hair really needs a wash_ \- but in the end he only managed three words that weren't quite what he had meant to say at all.

"You fucking bastard."

Thorin smiled weakly, still visibly exhausted. Dwalin had never been so grateful for a smile in his entire life.

"Hey."

The familiarity of the words almost hurt. It reminded him of an evening less than a year ago, when Thorin had somehow decided that it was the couch of Dwalin's place he wanted to crash on, not his sister's, his brother's or his parents'.

Dwalin put his food and magazines down on a table by the window and went to sit on his chair beside Thorin again.

"How are you feeling?"

He realised that it was a rather stupid question as soon as he had asked, but somehow no better one came to mind.

"Tired. Bruised. Broken. Like a truck ran me over and they threw me off a cliff for good measure."

Thorin's voice was hoarse and with a thankful smile he accepted a glass of water from Dwalin, trying to hide the soft trembling of his hand. His tone was light, but the dark shadow in his eyes told Dwalin that he remembered all too well what had happened. He didn't dwell on the topic; they would have to discuss the events of the last night soon enough.

"You look terrible."

That drew a small laugh from Thorin, accompanied by a wince at the pain flaming up from his injuries.

"Thanks. You too."

Dwalin lifted his eyebrows but had to admit that Thorin was probably right. Apart from the short nap this morning he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours and Thorin's state hadn't exactly managed to ease his mind either.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Thorin closed his eyes for a moment, clearly exhausted by their short conversation already. It pained Dwalin to see him like this; Thorin usually had almost boundless energy. For him to be so weak that he was even unable to carry a conversation for long was almost terrifying and Dwalin knew it frightened his friend as well. With a visible effort, Thorin opened his eyes again and continued talking.

"How are the others?"

"Fine. Nothing but scratches compared to you."

Dwalin was thankful that his words were the truth.

"Good."

Thorin relaxed a little more at the news before he thought to ask another question.

"What time and day is it?"

Dwalin smiled a little at the worry in his voice that he might have missed something important.

"Monday evening. You were out for a good part of the day."

Thorin just nodded and Dwalin continued to talk.

"Your brother and sister were here to visit you earlier. I promised to tell them as soon as there was anything new. Do you mind?"

"No."

Thorin's voice was already slightly slurred around the edges as he answered.

"But tell them I might be asleep again by the time they are here."

"I will."

Dwalin tried not to let his worry show. It was natural for Thorin to be so tired and weakened, he told himself, after all that he had been through. The medication and pain killers floating through his blood stream were likely not exactly rousing either. By the time he had finished tapping the messages to Dís, Frerin and Balin into his phone, Thorin was already visibly drifting off again.

"Is there anything you want me to bring you from home?"

Thorin shook his head at the question, either unable to think about it just yet or simply not caring. His eyes were closed now and not long after he had once again fallen asleep.

Dwalin leaned back in his chair, the remnants of relief still fluttering around in his chest. Dís arrived not long after, slightly breathless as if she had run all the way from her meeting. After a quick chat, Dwalin decided that it was finally time for him to head back home and Dís seemed to be more than grateful to accept the sandwich he had bought earlier as dinner replacement.

He said goodbye to Thorin's sister and made his way to the train station. Now that the imminent worry for Thorin to wake up had passed, he could feel his own exhaustion surging through his body. It made it hard for him not to fall asleep when travelling back, despite the once-again crowded trains.

After fixing himself a quick dinner he didn't even bother to switch on the TV, knowing he wouldn't make it thirty minutes into any kind of programme, no matter what it was. So he stretched out on his bed and was asleep not half an hour later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Monday! (Have a good rest of the week everybody ;))


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much too say for this chapter, really - apart from the fact that my sense of humour is still horrible, sorry. Fun fact: I spent so much time researching things for this AU that Google has now listed 'law enforcement' as one of my interests in my [personalised ad settings](https://www.google.ca/settings/ads). And I keep getting advertisements for cheap knee operations. Yay?

It wasn't quite a peaceful night - the events of the morning and the day were still much too close, too clear in his head for Dwalin to truly find rest in his dreams. Too often did real memories mingle with fabricated visions and he woke up more than once, gasping for breath and blindly reaching for the knife on his bedside table.

The morning at work brought no relief - Thranduil was still furious at him for missing the debriefing the day before and that he didn't really have a good excuse just made it worse. So Dwalin simply grit his teeth at his boss's angry tirade and stared straight ahead into the wall, determined not to let any of his feelings show.

After Thranduil had exhausted himself and found no more words to shout into his face, he demanded a full and detailed report of yesterday's events from him, both now in his office and later written down on paper. Dwalin tried to keep every emotion out of his voice as he recounted what had happened from the moment on when they had moved into the _Pinecone_.

"Has Officer Durinsson talked to you about what happened to him yet?"

Dwalin felt anger rise up inside him and quickly swept it aside. But he could not prevent his voice from sounding a shade rougher than its usual tone.

"No, sir, not yet. He was barely awake when I talked to him yesterday."

Thranduil closed his eyes for a brief second and sighed, suddenly looking very tired.

"No, of course not. I apologize. I've...I read the full medical report on his injuries earlier and should have known. But we need this information, we need to know what happened. And you are absolutely positive that Azog himself was there?"

"Yes, sir. I only caught a brief look at them before they escaped, but it was definitely him. Do you think this might have anything to do with what happened to his relatives?"

"We don't do speculation, as you well now." The hard look in Thranduil's eyes softened as he continued. "But yes, I suspect that those events aren't entirely unrelated. As I said before, we'll need Durinsson's version of what happened before we can draw further conclusions."

Dwalin nodded. He had to concede the point that knowing what exactly had taken place in the few minutes before they had found him would be the only way to shed light on Azog's role in the matter. Thranduil, however, knew as well as he did that they would have to wait for the doctor's approval before they could start asking serious questions.

Even if they could prove Azog's involvement based on Thorin's testimony, it would bring the other departments not a single step closer to detaining him. Azog was as elusive as a slippery eel and if the stories he had heard from other colleagues were true, he had a talent for evading even the most cunning attempts at convicting him of a single one of his many crimes.

"And your information source? Has he or she disclosed why the intel was apparently wrong?"

Thranduil drew himself up and all softness vanished from his face.

"Our informant has always been rather reliable. And it is not your place to question our methods or sources."

This time Dwalin didn't even try to hold back his fury.

"Not my place? It was my ass on the line that night! Mine and that of the entire team! Thorin was _almost killed_ and might not ever fully recover again! And you're telling me it's _not my place_ to question your information?"

"ENOUGH!"

Thranduil's fist banged on the table in front of him. Both of them quietly stared at each other, seething with anger. Dwalin knew well that he had overstepped a line, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Then the tension in the air drained suddenly and Thranduil's shoulders slumped again.

"Your are dismissed, Officer Barkhun."

No apology, but no threat to throw him out of the unit either as Dwalin had feared. He nodded curtly and stepped out of the office, only to find his brother waiting for him outside who winced as the wooden door slammed back into its frame.

"I see you had your meeting with Thranduil then." he remarked dryly.

"As you can see." Dwalin grit out between his teeth. "I just-"

"I know." Balin put his hand on his brother's arm. "Well, to be fair, anybody in close vicinity knows now. You weren't exactly...quiet when you just voiced your opinion in there."

Dwalin shrugged, the remainder of the anger inside him slowly evaporating. He checked the time on his watch and cursed quietly under his breath. His shift was due to begin in less than fifteen minutes.

"Gotta go. Shift's starting soon."

His brother nodded, but before he could go, he quickly asked:

"Are you going to visit Thorin again afterwards?"

"Yeah, I had planned to."

A small smile ran over Balin's face, one that Dwalin could not quite interpret in its entirety.

"Don't forget to pick up your paperwork before you leave though. You know the deal - ' _A report a day..._ "

" _...keeps Thranduil at bay._ ' Yeah." He had to mirror his brother's smile at the ludicrous phrase that had made its rounds through the team a few months ago.

Balin patted him on the shoulder and left him to make his way down to the garages and team rooms.

It was a quiet day out on the streets with no extraordinary events taking place. Dwalin was quietly thankful for it; there had been quite enough excitement over the past forty hours and he still wasn't sure that he wouldn't have lost his patience again. After a quick shower in the communal area (that he usually tried to avoid to use, but today was an exception) he headed back to the offices to collect the paperwork that still needed filling out.

A pleasant surprise awaited him at the hospital - Thorin was awake again and seemed to be looking better than the day before. There wasn't quite as much exhaustion in his gaze anymore and despite the remaining tiredness in his eyes he seemed unlikely to fall asleep on the spot. He was remarkably lucid for the cocktail of painkillers that had to be running through his body. His pallor, however, was still a few shades too ghostly to count as healthy and Dwalin could see a hint of pain etched into the lines of his face.

Thorin smiled warmly when he came in, easing some of Dwalin's worries.

"You just missed the big assembly." he greeted him. "Dís and Frerin were here until about half an hour ago and they somehow managed to drag both my nephews and my parents in with them, too. At least they didn't make grandfather come all the way down here at his old age."

Dwalin grinned at the image of most of Thorin's remaining family filling the room like a flock of particularly bad-tempered sparrows. He had met his nephews on a few occasions and knew what whirlwinds of energy they were.

"I'm surprised you're not asleep again after all the ruckus they must have caused."

His friend chuckled quietly.

"I'm surprised the nurse didn't throw them out. Well, my father managed to quiet the room fairly quickly by mentioning that if I had gone into academics like they wanted me to this entire situation would never have happened."

Dwalin frowned. Thorin never talked much about his parents or his father's side of the family but the few things he mentioned indicated that their relationship wasn't always free of tensions. Apparently there were still some old disappointments buried somewhere along the line especially between him and his father.

"Ouch. And what happened then?"

"Oh, Dís shut him up rather effectively by pointing out that being an academic didn't quite prevent her husband from getting shot either."

At Dwalin's slightly shocked expression Thorin pulled a face somewhere between a grimace and a grin.

"You see now why Thanksgiving in our family is always...interesting."

Dwalin snorted. "I bet."

"Did I tell you that Balin was here earlier, too?"

Thorin smiled slightly at the second frown appearing on Dwalin's face within minutes.

"He left about ten minutes later, apparently slightly overwhelmed by my family. But he DID leave me with some paperwork to do before he disappeared."

This time it was Dwalin's turn to grimace.

"Leave it to my brother to force someone who was in critical condition two nights ago and has more or less just woken up to do his paperwork. Sorry."

Thorin shrugged, only to abort the movement halfway through and wincing at the pain shooting through his left shoulder.

"He's only doing his job."

At least the presence of Thorin's entire family had kept Balin from trying to ask him much more detailed questions about what had happened. Dwalin knew that his brother would never willingly force Thorin to do something he didn't want, but he could have a frightening amount of persistence and sense of duty if it came down to it. With a slightly bitter smile, his friend added:

"After all it looks like I will be spending a lot of time here. Might as well do something useful."

Dwalin thought of a way to soften the statement, to take away the bitterness in Thorin's voice, but no words came to mind. He carefully tried to change the topic of their conversation instead.

"By the way, did I tell you that there are newspaper articles about you now?"

Thorin snorted.

"I bet that most of them are either completely wrong or paint me as the poor victim everybody should pity. I don't quite know which one's worse."

After running across some of the headlines earlier that day, Dwalin had to agree silently. BOTCHED OPERATION ALMOST COSTS SWAT OFFICER'S LIFE had been one of the nicer ones. At least none of the reporters had managed to get their hands on a picture of Thorin in the hospital.

"I wonder how the media caught wind of the information so quickly though." he sighed whilst his friend flicked through two of the newspapers he had brought along.

"Wow, these journalists seem to know a lot more about everything than you or I do." The sarcasm in Thorin's voice was almost palpable.

"This one here states that the criminals likely had ties to the former IRA since kneecapping was apparently a common form of punishment by them back in the 70s and 80s. They also talk about 'a massive shootout with several severely injured officers' and seem to have a better idea about my chances of recovery than the doctors here."

Dwalin shuddered at the faint note of strangled intensity he could hear beneath the amusement in Thorin's voice.

"So how bad is it?" he finally dared to ask after Thorin had finished reading.

"Apart from the fact that I got beaten up like a newbie on his first day of training?" Thorin's smile was slightly strained.

"Bruises in all colours of the rainbow, cracked ribs, a broken collarbone, stab wound in the shoulder and a nice deep flesh wound on the chest. The knee though...apparently they still don't know yet. The kneecap itself is almost undamaged, but the rest...they want to keep me here for a while longer and keep the knee straight for some time to give the bone fractures time to start healing correctly. After that..." he shrugged with his right shoulder. "Therapy will show, I guess."

Thorin's tone had been oddly light throughout the entire reveal, but Dwalin could sense his frustration underneath it. Idly he wondered whether Thranduil or Balin knew; but they had access to the medical reports which were likely a lot more detailed (and much harder to understand) than what he had just heard.

He gave Thorin a smile that he hoped was both understanding and somehow comforting. He could see his friend tiring again, the few reserves of strength he had filled since yesterday already depleted by the business of the past few hours.

"Do you need anything from home?" he asked before standing up.

Thorin frowned as if he vaguely remembered that Dwalin had posed the same question the day before.

"I saw earlier that you already brought some clothes, but my laptop would be great. And a few books. I can make you a list until tomorrow, if you want."

A strange kind of warmth trickled through Dwalin's heart at the warm spark of humour in Thorin's eyes during the last sentence. The trickle turned into a quiet flood as he realised that for Thorin his presence at the hospital the next day was a given.

"Yeah, of course."

He rose up from his seat and was about to grab his coat when suddenly a hand came to lightly rest on his bare arm. Thorin's smile was bright and genuine as he looked up to him.

"Thank you."

Dwalin couldn't help but answer it with a smile of his own. The warmth of Thorin's touch seemed to linger on his skin long after his fingers were gone.

*

The days seemed to settle into an odd rhythm despite their initial extraordinariness. Things were back to their normal patterns in the MOP unit soon and barely anybody spoke about the incident at the _Pinecone_ although they all continued to enquire with Dwalin about Thorin's health. Until one day Dwalin innocently suggested they could visit him themselves if they wanted to - Thorin had been moved to a different room as soon as the doctors were sure that his condition would take no sudden turn for the worse. The more he recovered from the initial consequences of his injuries, the more restless and bored did he become.

What he hadn't suspected was that almost the entire team would take him up on the suggestion and visit Thorin whilst he and a few remaining officers were on patrol. Thorin told him later that they had nearly given the nurse a heart attack by the sheer number of visitors entering his room - although, he assured him, they had all been much more civil than Fíli and Kíli.

Apparently Dori, the on-and-off psychological counsellor for the team had left him his phone number and told him that he could call whenever needed. In the general amount of chatting that had resumed it had been difficult to converse normally with even a single person - Tauriel and Bombur had been cracking jokes almost non-stop and Bifur had watched the entire assembly whilst Dáin had kept smiling apologetically at him for all the ruckus they caused. According to Thorin it had felt rather like a very strange kind of dinner party.

When Dwalin visited and they were alone, they talked about all kinds of subjects - from how the shifts at work had gone via the fact that one of Dwalin's orchids had started flowering again to the latest episode of Breaking Bad. At other times they just quietly busied themselves with their own respective reading or sat in comfortable silence. What they didn't talk about anymore were the night in the _Pinecone_ or the exact state of Thorin's leg - Dwalin knew Thorin had those conversations with Dís and others already, there was no need for him to keep picking at the same wound. He also didn't tell Thorin about the news reporter he had caught sneaking around in the hallway outside one day and how he had used rather...strong persuasion to dissuade him from coming around again.

*

It was a while before they finally approached the subject of Operation Frying Pan again. Dwalin had insisted on taking him outside to get some fresh air and if there was one thing that Thorin had learned during their time living together it was that arguments with his colleague were more than useless. At first he had refused to be pushed around in a wheelchair but after Dwalin had pointed out that he could hardly use crutches with a broken collarbone and his left arm still in a sling, he had grudgingly relented.

Thorin himself started the conversation, by asking what had happened after they had gotten separated. He hadn't yet been given the opportunity to read his team's accounts on the matter, possibly not to mangle his own memory of the matter before he handed in his version. But he had finished the write-up of his own report the same morning and was more than interested to hear somebody else's memory of the night. Dwalin obliged to his request remarkably quickly and a pang of gratefulness surged through Thorin that his friend refused to treat him like a raw egg like so many others had started to do since the incident. Dwalin's account of what had transpired from the moment they got separated was brief but to the point and Thorin found himself listening intently to him.

"...and then we found you." Dwalin finished his recollection, unsure how to go on. He was certain neither he nor Thorin truly had any desire to relive the moments until Óin and his men had arrived.

Thorin nodded. He didn't mention that despite his hazy memory of those last moments in the basement he still remembered that Azog had already given the order to kill him and that his team's arrival had only narrowly prevented his death.

"And Azog?"

A grim expression settled on Dwalin's face.

"He got away. There was a third exit that we didn't know about and which wasn't on the blueprints. It lead straight into the basement of the house next door. Dáin and his men followed, but they had set up more explosives and were gone by the time we finally managed to search the place."

Thorin frowned.

"This doesn't exactly shed a positive light on our source of intel..."

Dwalin snorted derisively.

"I said the same thing and let's just say I had a little...fallout with Thranduil over the matter."

The edges of Thorin's lips curved up as he imagined just how vocally Dwalin might have voiced his opinions. His small fights with Thranduil were almost legendary by now. He had gotten into an argument with the unit chief more than one time himself before, but had never quite lost his temper as much as Dwalin sometimes tended to do. From time to time they had jokingly wondered if Balin's position within the unit was the only reason that Dwalin hadn't been dismissed from his job yet.

"I can imagine."

Dwalin closed his eyes briefly before broaching a more delicate subject and posing his question.

"Did Azog reveal anything to you?"

Thorin could almost feel something in his gaze shift when he answered the question, his voice several shades rougher. He cursed his body for betraying him.

"No. He talked about slightly...different matters. Most of them were questions."

His friend looked at him, expression both questioning and apologetic.

"And you still remember everything?"

"Yeah. All too clearly, unfortunately."

He avoided Dwalin's gaze as he answered, settling his eyes on the patterns the sunlight painted on the river instead. The he continued.

"Well, I finished writing the report for Balin and Thranduil earlier, so there has already been quite some bit of remembering today. Do you want to hear?"

Dwalin nodded and Thorin braced himself for diving back into his mind again to tell the tale for what was, hopefully, the final time. He doubted he would ever have to repeat it in court; Azog was much too cunning to go down over an offence like this. But even though he had dreaded the moment and his body constantly reminded him of what had happened, the events already seemed strangely distant and far more unreal than they had been this morning, now that he was enjoying the spring sunshine with Dwalin sitting on a bench next to him and looking out over the Charles River. His friend didn't interrupt his report, but the grey in his eyes hardened with every new detail. By the time Thorin was finished they were shimmering with cold fury. He was thankful that there wasn't a single trace of pity in Dwalin's voice when he spoke.

"At least this entire fucking mess had one advantage - we now know that Smaug truly exists and isn't just some kind of made-up rumour."

Thorin nodded, having mulled over those implications himself far too many times during the last few days.

"But the information is worth nothing without the documents Azog mentioned. And I'm only waiting for Thranduil and some guys from the other departments to come along and question me on them. Azog seemed to have been one hundred percent sure that they exist and that I would have them or at least know their location."

"And do you?" The inquiry from Dwalin's side was almost soft.

"No." Thorin shook his head. "I'm not sure I would've been able to withhold the information from Azog if I would have known."

Dwalin looked at him and Thorin thought the sudden knot inside his chest would simultaneously pull tighter and unravel itself. His friend's hand was on the armrest of the bench now, only an inch away from touching.

"If Azog is so sure that those documents were indeed more than just a rumour, then Finn and Regar must've hidden the information somewhere before they were murdered. Maybe they even left some hints somewhere for you on how to find it."

His last sentence made Thorin snort in thinly veiled amusement.

"Dwalin, this isn't some kind of detective novel or computer game where we collect clues that will lead us to the location of the desired item."

That drew a slight chuckle from the man sitting next to him and Thorin was quick to add:

"But maybe I'll have a look through the various things that they left Dís, Frerin and me when they died. I could ask my mother too, she kept most of her brother's and father's things if I remember correctly. I don't think there'll be so much else to do when I'm back home anyway..."

Even after ten months of officially moving in, it still felt good to casually talk about 'home' and mean a place where he could share his time with somebody else, mean more than just an empty apartment with a few personal belongings in it.

"You could sort my collection of motorcycle magazines. And some of my socks have holes and need mending, I think." Dwalin pointed out in a completely serious tone.

Thorin used his uninjured arm to punch him in the ribs which earned him a smirk in return. Dwalin's tone was softer somehow, when he continued talking.

"You know...we never did go out for that beer after all, did we."

Thorin took a moment of fiddling with the edge of the sling around his left arm before he replied in what he hoped was a rather light-hearted tone.

"Just wait until I'm not so stuffed with painkillers anymore that alcohol would likely knock me out again."

Dwalin nodded, a slight smile playing around his lips and something indeterminable flickering in his eyes that Thorin chose not to dwell on for fear of interpreting it the wrong way.

Afterwards their talk meandered around a variety of different topics until the sun slowly started to set and Thorin felt exhausted again. He still tired easily and Dwalin could tell that he himself was the one who was most annoyed by it, but none of them dwelled on the subject as they made their way back to the hospital.

When Thorin was finally allowed home it came as a huge relief to both of them. Dwalin didn't have to make the daily detours via the hospital anymore and no longer returned to an empty apartment; and Thorin was back in his familiar surroundings again.

Dwalin had swapped one of his shifts with Tauriel so that he could help Thorin move, a task that was everything but easy since he was under strict orders by the doctors not to overexert his still healing shoulder by using crutches. Thorin, however, wouldn't be Thorin if he hadn't at least tried to manage a few awkward hops on his own with a crutch tucked under his right arm and careful not to put any weight on his right leg yet. Dwalin told him to just say if there was anything he needed and he would fetch it, to which Thorin's only reply was an eye roll and the pointed question what he should do when Dwalin was out and he needed to take care of his more imminent needs. As predicted, Dwalin was unable to produce a satisfying answer.

The first night was strange - both of them were exhausted from the busy day and decided to go to sleep early, especially since Dwalin had the day shift the next morning. Thorin was already on his side of the bed, leg propped up slightly on a rolled up pillow and half-lidded eyes heavy with tiredness. When Dwalin started gathering up his own bedding, he frowned.

"What the hell do you think you're you doing?'

At least Dwalin had the decency to look slightly sheepish.

"Uh...sleeping on the couch? I didn't want to accidentally kick your leg at night, so..."

If there had been a spare pillow, Thorin would have thrown it at him.

"Bullshit. Stay."

"But..."

"STAY."

Something in Thorin's eyes must have convinced the tall man to do exactly that. The last thought Thorin had before falling asleep was about the reassuring and familiar presence next to him and that this was probably what home was supposed to feel like.

It was good to be back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter tomorrow! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's going to happen in this chapter, right? RIGHT? =D

What he had never told Dwalin about during all the time he had been in hospital were the nightmares that ripped him out of sleep almost every night. Thorin had somehow assumed they would lessen as soon as he was in a familiar environment again, but evidently he had been wrong. He awoke in the middle of the night with a strangled moan, the pain in his knee as fresh as it had been the moment he was shot. Finger by finger he forced his slightly trembling hands to relax their grip on the covers whilst his eyes kept staring into the darkness of the room, only faintly illuminated by the light of the street lanterns from outside. His own heartbeat was so loud in his ears that he thought the entire city must have heard it.

Sometimes his dreams were vivid, replaying his memories in such excruciating detail that it should have been impossible for him to have remembered it all - his head jerked up by his hair tearing at his scalp, the smell of blood, the odd little ring on Azog's index finger, the flash of the knife and taste of dirt on the ground, accompanied by the sound of the gunshot. Sometimes, like today, they were much less clear, with him struggling against the grip of invisible hands, trying to do something, _anything_ , to avoid what was coming whilst agony was slowly setting his limbs on fire and he found that he had lost his voice to scream. Thorin idly wondered if he should tell Dori about it and ask for a meeting, but he put the thought off until the next morning, as always.

"Thorin?"

The voice next to him was no more than a gruff whisper and he cursed himself. He knew Dwalin was a light sleeper. He should have discarded his selfishness for once and let him move to the sofa instead of waking him up in the middle of the night.

"I'm fine. Just a nightmare. Sorry."

He hoped his own voice didn't sound too breathless and that Dwalin would leave it be and go back to sleep. His friend, however, knew him far too well by now and did nothing of the sort.

"Liar."

There was the quiet rustling of sheets as Thorin didn't reply and he could almost _feel_ Dwalin's gaze on his face that was thankfully hidden by the dark. It was odd how the night time seemed to both rip down and erect new barriers between them.

"Want to talk about it?"

The sentence brought an unbidden smile to Thorin's face. He remembered it from his childhood, how he had hidden in his parent's bed whenever being plagued by nightmares. His mother had wrapped her arms around him and told him that it was nothing more than a dream and that sometimes, talking about it could make it all better.

But he wasn't a child anymore and his mother wasn't there to cover up his own weakness.

"No."

Maybe one day he would have enough courage to talk about them. He heard Dwalin sigh and felt a faint pang of regret race through his chest, accompanied by another bout of guilt.

"I'm sorry." he whispered again.

Dwalin's eye roll was almost palpable, even in the dark.

"If I hear you apologise only one more time, then I'll haul your sorry ass all the way back to the hospital myself. Stop it and go back to sleep. I'm here."

There was much more in those last words than simple reassurance. It was an offer of trust and one of an open ear and heart and briefly, Thorin wondered what he had done to deserve such a friend.

"Thanks."

It was the only word that came into his mind. Dwalin grunted quietly and had soon fallen back asleep. Thorin listened to the steady sound of his breathing until his own lids became heavy again and he drifted off into more pleasant dreams.

*

Thorin was restless.

He tried to hide it well in front of Dwalin whenever his friend was home. It was difficult, however, to discard all the frustration inside him at not being able to do as much as he wanted to and he knew that Dwalin could read him frighteningly well these days. Even if he seldom said anything, the worry and helpless sympathy were palpable in his friend's eyes.

Thorin spent a lot of time reading, in front of the TV or surfing the internet during those days, but even those tasks became repetitive after a while. Sometimes the longing in him to just jump up and go for a run in the streets became almost overwhelming and it was all he could do to restrain himself from giving in to the urge.

He also looked through all of his grandfather's and uncle's belongings that he had brought with him for clues on Smaug or other eventually hidden documents; but Thorin was unable to find anything. He resolved to ask his siblings and his mother after the items they had inherited from their late relatives once he would be able to walk more than a few steps on his own again.

He almost looked forward to the day when Thranduil called him into the office for a few more questions related to the incident in the _Pinecone_. They were mostly the same issues that he and Dwalin had been pondering amongst themselves already, only now reflected on in much more excruciating detail. They were discussed not only with Balin and Thranduil but also the chief of the investigation against Azog himself, Gandalf Tharkun, who seemed especially interested at the mention of Smaug.

Thorin himself found the meeting both taxing and interesting; Regar and Finn had worked directly under Gandalf and he had met him a few times before. The older man's gaze seemed to drill directly into his soul and despite the friendly smile on his face his questions were equally sharp and to the point. He now knew why his uncle had sometimes referred to his chief as a 'wizard' - apparently Gandalf had a knack of getting information out of anyone and stringing it together in such a way that allowed looking at it under a completely different light. Even Thranduil seemed to utterly respect him. Gandalf, however, didn't manage to piece together any new information from what they already knew in this particular case and when Thorin left he did so with a quiet pull of regret in his stomach.

The nightmares remained, although they gradually lessened in their frequency and intensity. There was still more than one night, however, when he woke up with his heart hammering in his chest and the cold tendrils of panic coiling around his ribs. Dwalin had never repeated his offer of talking, but Thorin knew that it still stood and although he might never take it up, the plain fact that it existed already helped. His friend woke up most times when he was coming out of a nightmare and part of Thorin still hated himself for it. Dwalin, on the other hand, seemed completely unfazed by it and usually simply turned over to face him and close some of the distance between them. On particularly bad nights the warm touch of his hand on Thorin's arm provided more comfort than any words could have given him.

Sometimes he wished he could speed up the process of his healing just by using his thoughts. When his collarbone, ribs and the wound in his shoulder had finally healed far enough for him to be able to use crutches, it was almost a relief - at least he was now able to move around on his own accord, if only for a short while at first. To his annoyance Thorin discovered just how weak his muscles had become during their period of forced rest - at the beginning even a few minutes of hobbling around were already exhausting him. Dwalin never said a word and never tried to hold him back, but the worry and annoyance in his gaze were enough to make Thorin respect his limits after the first time he had stumbled and almost fallen to the floor.

*

They had good days and bad ones.

On some of those good days the Thorin's physiotherapy sessions had gone well and he found himself leaving them with a smile and in a good mood that he carried back home. Others were when Dwalin was enjoying his day off work for the week - and since they were only bound to one shift schedule and the trips to the hospital and physiotherapy now, they had the sudden luxury of little visits to the park, sea side or the cinema whenever they wanted, although they still hadn't been out for the promised beer, wanting to wait with it until Thorin was fully healed again. And on some days Thorin was simply in a cheerful mood, making good-natured jests, sparing a few laughs at Dwalin's attempts to be funny or trying to teach him how to cook from his seat at the small kitchen table.

Of course not every day could be like that. Sometimes, especially on rainy days, the pain returned to batter Thorin's body with all its might despite the painkillers he kept for those circumstances. It was all Dwalin could do to try and distract him when he was there, but it wasn't always successful. At other times Thorin was in a black mood from the moment he woke up, filled to the brim with frustration and anger at the weakness of his own body and his own inability to overcome such emotions. Sometimes he would then snap even at Dwalin who saw no other way than to retire to a different room or leave the apartment entirely when it became too much for him to handle without losing his own temper.

Today was one of those bad days.

He couldn't even remember what exactly it had been that had set him off so much earlier that he had stormed out of their apartment with barely more than his keys, some money and a coat on him, leaving Thorin to brood on the couch of their living room. Despite being able to put weight on his bad leg again since a few days, his friend had been in a particularly dark mood when Dwalin had returned from a stressful day at work, barely speaking a word even at well meant inquiries. It had soon erupted into an explosive argument over some unimportant trifle that it had Dwalin taken more than an hour to shake off.

When he returned, he found that all of his motorcycle magazines had been sorted and put in order, just as he had suggested in jest so many weeks ago. Thorin was still seated on the couch with his leg propped up, but his shoulders now had a tired hunch to them rather than a frustrated, angry one and Dwalin sighed quietly. At least this time Thorin's temper seemed to have resulted in something productive and even if his pride would never allow him to admit it, Thorin had probably meant it to be an apology, too.

Both of them were terrible at apologising directly, so Thorin's only reaction to Dwalin seating himself next to him and handing him his part of the takeout dinner he had bought on the way back from his anger-managing walk were a lopsided smile and a muttered 'Thanks'.

They both focused their attention on the television screen in front of them and quietly ate their food. Just as they had finished their meal and put the empty boxes on the living room table to clean up later, Thorin suddenly bent forward with a hiss, the rest of him frozen in his position. Dwalin frowned as his friend reached out to massage his calf, mumbling a curse under his breath.

"A cramp?"

Thorin nodded, teeth clenched and Dwalin barely resisted a wise-ass remark amongst the lines of 'you shouldn't have run around and done so much work earlier, of course you'd overwork those re-developing muscles of yours' which he knew would a) have been unfair and b) not helped in the slightest.

Instead he let out a sigh.

"Give me your leg."

Dwalin rolled his eyes as Thorin hesitated and made an impatient gesture with his hand. When Thorin had finally heaved his right leg over onto Dwalin's knees, he carefully dug his fingers into the skin through the fabric of the trousers, feeling the hardened knot where the muscle had contracted. His friend let out an involuntary groan of equal parts pain and pleasure as his tormented calf slowly began to relax again under the movement of Dwalin's fingers.

Thorin leaned his head against the backrest of the sofa and closed his eyes for a second.

"I'm sorry for doing this to you. For being...such a burden."

Dwalin grunted in annoyance at his words. He hated it when Thorin fell into that special stage somewhere between self-pity, self-loathing and crushing guilt.

"Shut up. How many times do I have to tell you that there's barely anything to apologise for?"

"Until I finally start believing it."

Thorin's smile was slightly bitter, but nonetheless a real smile as he opened his eyes again and watched as Dwalin continued to work on his leg. There was an awkward moment when neither of them wanted Dwalin to stop what he was doing, even after the cramp was long gone.

With a little cough the tall man finally finished and Thorin lifted his leg back onto the little stool in front of him. Neither of them was quite sure what to say, so they both spent several minutes staring intently at the news broadcast that was on television at the moment.

When Dwalin climbed into bed after a cold shower later that night, he wished he would have simply continued the massage to see where it would have led.

*

Thorin's physiotherapist was a competent young man who was always brutally honest with him, in good news as in bad ones. When he told him that there would very likely be a certain amount of pain associated with excess movement of his knee for the rest of his life, he did so with a faint note of regret in his voice. Thorin had cursed under his breath at the news, refusing to think about what it meant for his future at work. It was also the point at which Thorin had asked him for more exercises he could do on his own when he was at home.

"Do you have a partner who could help you?"

If the young man noticed Thorin's ears taking on an ever-so-slight shade of pink he didn't say a single word.

"A friend, yes."

"Then bring him with you the next time you come in and I can show you a few more exercises."

"Thanks."

Thorin meant it when he said the word. It was interesting how his injury had changed his perspective on the definitions of both gratefulness and humbleness - he found himself appreciating the small gestures of friendship and simple care much more now than he had half a year ago.

He did as he had promised. It had been easier than he thought to convince Dwalin to stay with him once they had arrived and his friend followed the instructions of the physiotherapist intently. The next day after Dwalin had slept in from his evening shift the night before, the two of them decided to work on the exercises the young man had given them.

Dwalin had learned quickly that pain, if not too strong, was both a desired outcome and tool during therapy and he trusted Thorin by now to know where his limits were. Thorin, on the other hand, appreciated his unquestioning help more than anything.

"Far enough?" Dwalin asked as he had built enough solid pressure on his leg to force his knee to bend just a little beyond the point where it started hurting. Thorin nodded, concentrating on the air streaming in and out of his lungs and counting under his breath.

Dwalin's hands were warm even through the fabric of his trousers and he was close to him, so close that Thorin could almost feel the faint tingle of warmth from his breath on his face. The grey of Dwalin's eyes was shining unnaturally bright as if in fever. Their gazes locked, and suddenly Thorin found himself unable to concentrate on the pain. Or the counting. Or breathing. Or anything else that wasn't the slight curve of Dwalin's jaw, the light stubble on his chin and the shape of his lips.

Time screeched to a halt.

And then they were both leaning forward, knee and pain and everything else forgotten as their mouths crashed together. Thorin asked himself idly why they finally did so now, why at this very moment and not the countless times before when they could have, _should_ have done so. But the sentiment was buried beneath a rush of exhilaration surging through him and the feeling that this was so right, so utterly and completely _right_ as if it had always meant to be.

Their first kiss was almost too fast, too uncoordinated, noses colliding with each other and lips slamming together like youths overtaken by their first bout of desire. He could feel Dwalin smirk slightly and then adjust his position so that they fitted better. The second time they savoured, like a good glass of wine on a special evening or a hot shower at the end of a long work day. Thorin's legs were splayed awkwardly beneath them, but he didn't mind, his hand reaching up to trace the line of Dwalin's jaw, follow it to his ear and then let it trail down his neck.

Their tongues started exploring, taking in the taste of sweat and the sweetness lingering beneath and Thorin found himself wishing that it would never end. Dwalin's left hand was sliding up his back now, fingers working beneath his shirt, sending tendrils of heat through Thorin's body.

When they drew back from each other, their faces flushed and lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss, their breaths were coming in heavy gulps. Dwalin grinned as both of them were trying to find their balance again.

"So...what about that beer?"

"Fuck the beer." Thorin snarled and let himself fall backwards, drawing Dwalin down with him who gently pushed his injured leg out of the way. He needed him, he realised, he needed his hands on his flesh and his breath on his skin and his taste in his mouth and this need was so urgent, so all-encompassing it had become an almost physical ache. Now he used both hands to wrap his arms around Dwalin's neck and bring him closer. Their third kiss was heated, hungry and called for more, more touching, more tasting, more feeling, less distance and layers of clothing between them.

They were both too happy to oblige. Thorin's shirt was first, Dwalin's hands quickly ridding him of the fabric and taking his own off shortly after. His breath caught slightly in his throat and Thorin wanted to do nothing more than to touch everywhere at once, feel every single inch of Dwalin's skin beneath his fingertips, even as his hands were already working on pulling down the edges of his trousers.

He was unable to suppress a tremble when Dwalin moved his lips towards Thorin's ear, one hand tangled in the strands of his hair, the other kneading the flesh on his back and moving down his hip, continuing to get rid of his own trousers only moments later. Pleasure was rippling through him as he felt Dwalin's teeth grazing his skin, first on his earlobe and then on his throat, gentle nicking soon turning into soft bites when he didn't protest.

Thorin's fingers were making their own marks on Dwalin's skin in the meantime, their tips digging into his flesh, sure to form light bruises to litter his lower back the next day. Dwalin grumbled in pleasure, his bites turning more forceful as he slowly moved downwards. Their panting became more agitated as more and more of their bare skin came into contact with each other, electrified by the simple power of touch and getting what they both had wanted for so long. Thorin arched his back and stifled a moan when Dwalin's mouth closed around him. Dwalin's right hand was cupping his lower back, his finger mirroring the strokes of his tongue until Thorin gasped in pure, mindless pleasure, moaning Dwalin's name over and over again, driven solely by need.

He came quickly, almost too quickly. Dwalin grinned as he wiped his mouth.

"Impatient, are we?" he drawled, his voice low and husky.

"Shut up."

Thorin put a hand under his chin and drew him close into another kiss, letting his teeth and tongue do the work of a more elaborate answer for him. He repaid Dwalin promptly, his other hand making quick work of his underpants and stroking him until the tall man was groaning into his ear. It had been a while since he had slept with somebody, but not long enough to make him forget what he had learned. Soon he had Dwalin shuddering against him, his fingers clenched around Thorin's hip and the sound of his panting against his ear, together with a whisper of his name when he finally spilled over his stomach and hand.

They both allowed themselves a moment of absolute stillness, doing nothing but basking in the aftermath of their exhilaration and listening to their breathing gradually slowing down. One of Dwalin's hands was buried in Thorin's hair again, his fingers nimbly playing with some of the loose strands.

"Weren't we supposed to go on a date first and THEN get down to business?" he asked with the hint of a smile playing around his lips.

Thorin chuckled and let his fingertips slide over Dwalin's chest down to his abdomen, drawing a soft grumble of pleasure from him.

"You should know by now that things never quite go after plan when I am involved."

It was the first time they could laugh about a bad joke relating to Thorin's injuries without a single trace of bitterness in their voices. It warmed Dwalin's heart to see the silver sparks of joy in Thorin's eyes.

The rest of their day happened in a remarkably similar way than it would have before the interruption of its normal routine. After cleaning up, they finished Thorin's exercises and spent the afternoon with their usual tasks to keep them occupied - shopping, reading, some paperwork and an earnest discussion about where to go the next time Dwalin had a day off work. The only thing that was truly different was the newly-found intimacy between them - little touches here and there, a casual brushing of shoulders, a quick grazing of fingertips over skin, sitting positions on the couch too close to each other to count as accidental.

They slept with each other again, later when they were in bed, now taking the time to explore, to tease, to playfully spoil with tender touches and soft kisses on skin. If the first time had been an explosion of desire and need, than this one was like the incoming tide, slow but equally all-engulfing.

Dwalin gently followed the angry red lines on Thorin's chest and shoulder with a careful touch first of his fingertips and then lips.

"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.

"Not when you do it." Thorin murmured and let his own fingers trail lazily down Dwalin's back, tracing the shape of his various tattoos and revelling in the outline of strong muscles beneath skin. To be allowed to touch, to look upon what a part of him had desired to explore for so long filled him with a feeling of happiness so profound that he was half afraid he would wake up and find it all a dream. But Dwalin stayed next to him, solid and real and Thorin had never been more grateful for anything else in his life.

*

Life continued almost as if nothing had happened. It was still following its usual patterns, but had somehow become much more enriched compared to what it had been before.

Thorin started to talk to Thranduil about returning to work, now that he was regaining more and more of his mobility by the day. It would only be an office job in the beginning, he knew; but he was looking forward to finally having a purpose and bringing structure to his time again.

There was also the issue with Smaug still left that bore looking into and he had promised both Gandalf and himself that he would do another, even more thorough search of all of his relative's past belongings that he could find.

Thorin told Frerin about Dwalin when they met in their favourite bar for the first time in months after his injury - his brother simply grinned widely, then laughed and slapped him on the back, promising to buy Thorin a drink the next time. His sisters' reaction was similar - Dís had taken to visit him once per week and keen-eyed sister that she was, she picked up on the slight shift in their relationship within a few minutes. Her only reaction was to smirk and throw a ' _Finally_ ' at them. Dwalin answered with a chuckle and Thorin with a roll of his eyes, knowing that he would soon have to expect a rather inappropriate call by his nephews congratulating him on his new boyfriend.

The situation was slightly different at work - Dwalin didn't tell anyone at the department _directly_ what had happened, but somehow everyone seemed to know within two days. He was vaguely disconcerted to find out that money was being exchanged between many of his colleagues at the discovery. Tauriel's smug smile as she pocketed a twenty dollar note slapped onto her table by Bifur was the only answer he ever received to his question whether there had, in fact, been a betting pool about him and Thorin getting together. It was answer enough.

Balin meanwhile only grabbed his shoulder and shot him a smile together with a look that was somewhere between ' _Well it took you long enough brother_ ' and ' _I'm happy for you_ '.

Of course, humanity was what it was after all and not all reactions were positive. Thorin had agreed with his siblings that there was no need to tell their parents, at least not yet. Especially his father who was still half in denial about his oldest son's sexuality, didn't necessarily have to know. There were apparently rather annoying comments at the police station and other places as well - but nobody who truly cared for their own safety would ever voice them in Dwalin's presence (or Balin's for that matter).

So, yes, Dwalin presumed that some things had changed after all - but others stayed the same and probably always would. They still argued about who got to shower first when they came back from outside drenched in rain. Thorin still complained about how unorganised Dwalin's bookshelves were and Dwalin in turn never left out an opportunity to mock Thorin's fondness of period dramas and whine about the fact that Thorin's hair was clogging the shower drain. Dwalin still occasionally slept with other boys and girls and Thorin found he didn't really mind. Sex and love were not always the same after all.

Although better than before, life was life and not everything was as it should be. Sometimes they fought and didn't talk for hours. Sometimes Thorin still had to clench his teeth to keep himself from crying out in pain or woke up from nightmares shaking and with a raw throat. Sometimes he would withdraw into himself again in frustration and Dwalin would leave him alone, hurt at the rejection.

Bad days, however, were usually followed by good ones, fights by kisses, pain by love and withdrawal by intimacy.

No, it wasn't always perfect.

But it was good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we finally are. Thanks for coming along on this short ride and I hope you enjoyed it - this was merely a set-up for all that is to come in this universe and my muse and me are more than excited for the next parts of the story! (Also, hon, I am so so so proud of you for getting through these exams and giving your best ♥)
> 
> And yes, this entire story was basically nothing but a 20k long setup for the line 'Fuck the Beer' (which, credit where credit's due, was my muse's idea). He.


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